After we had been together for three years, he gave me a thing. He had been talking about it for a long time. He wanted my thing to be perfect, so he looked, patiently, with no regard to how long it may take, or how impatient I was with the waiting.
It was a lot of pressure. What if I didn’t like this thing he brought to me? I held the box in my hands, it was small and solid. I watched his face. He was nervous too. This man, this love of mine who also loved me, did not want to ever lose me. This thing was important.
He and I were the same in that moment. Tentative, somehow. Happy.
It was silver and heavy, with a purple stone. He put his favorite color on me. He knew I would like it, but it is not my favorite color.
It is his.